


The Gleaners

by Nationalwolves



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Zukaang Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25529080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nationalwolves/pseuds/Nationalwolves
Summary: For Day 7 of Zukaang Week 2020, prompt: RuinsIn a modern ATLA au, after the events of the show, Aang convinces Zuko to drive him after school to the remains of his childhood home at the edge of town.
Relationships: Aang/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 56
Collections: Zukaang Week 2020





	The Gleaners

**Author's Note:**

> no momo *tear*; no betas; no fucks; is this a universe with bending or with spirit world magic???? idk seems ambiguous to me. do you have questions about relationships to characters I didn't mention? i definitely don't have answers. despite all this blatant disregard for meaningful storytelling, lmk what you think in the comments <3

Outside of his little black Audi, Zuko was clenching a bunch of homework scrolls in his arm, switching between songs on his phone with one hand, and digging in his pockets for his fob with the other. A call echoed amongst the cars in the parking lot, “Zuko!” He looked around while he continued sifting for his keys between coins. From behind, Appa—more like a bear than a puppy—tackled Zuko, forcing him to drop all his scrolls and even his phone so he could catch himself on the ground. As the sheepdog barked out to wherever Aang was amongst the sea of cars, Zuko tried rolling the beast off of him, but his arm got tangled in his headphone cord (this was the only time he would admit that the fuckin airpod headphones might be helpful, but he otherwise stood by his commitment to wires). Taking advantage of his captive audience, Appa went ham licking Zuko’s face before Aang leapt past a few cars to apprehend his pet. 

“There you are, Zuko!” he said standing over his friend. “I need some help. What are you doing on the ground anyway?”

“I have so much homework, Aang,” complained Zuko.

“Do you normally work on it in the parking lot?”

The highschool senior grunted at his younger friend. Aang, though in his junior year, still somehow never figured out how to take school seriously. “No, I just mean I have a lot to do this afternoon.”

“Well if you can do it while laying down on the pavement, you can definitely do it while I drive!” Aang looked down expectantly at his resistant friend.

“Did you get your own car? Or did Appa spontaneously learn how to fly? Because no way you’re driving mine.”

“Hey! Appa’s been working really hard at his driving lessons. Haven’t you, buddy?”

Zuko started to untangle himself and stand. “Maybe the next lesson can be about not jumping on people, instead.”

“Zuko, that won’t help him fly. If anything we need him to jump higher on people,” Aang scratched behind his dog’s ears.

The dark-haired boy started collecting the scrolls of homework that had rolled away. “Short of that lesson, it seems like you’re stuck. You don’t have a car.”

“Which is why I interrupted your homework session out here.”

“It wasn’t—” Zuko started, but, recognizing how futile an explanation would be, he let it be. Instead he crouched on his knees to pull out runaway scrolls from underneath the neighboring truck.

“So what do you say?” Aang asked while grabbing a few scrolls by his feet.

Zuko took a second of respite tucked beneath the truck. He was going to regret this, he admitted to himself. When he reemerged, he stood tall and looked at Aang seriously. “Where are we going?” he relented.

Aang seemed to leap several feet into the air, spinning a full 360 degrees before returning back to earth. He skipped over to the passenger side with Appa tagging along behind him. The older of the two felt an embarrassed warmth in his cheeks. “Yeah, Zuko! Another whirlwind adventure! I can’t wait to show you—Hey, why’s the door locked?”

* * *

“Okay,” Aang said while digging through the glove compartment sans permission, “looks like we have winter fresh or Juicy Fruit.”

“Are you offering me my own gum?” 

“Only if you want some,” he laughed and stole a stick for himself (winter fresh). “No gum for you, boy. I’m talking to Appa, not you, Zuko. You can still have some if you want. Oh, wait I think that was the turn.”

These things should’ve bothered Zuko. Who has he ever allowed to rifle through his shit like this? To lead him obliviously out to the boonies? But here he was, laughing at his best friend, and instead of sliding into his usual road rage, he was looking for a street or driveway to inconspicuously turn around in. 

No, it wasn’t like this with everyone. He remembers the same set-up with Mai: after school, parking lot meet up, suburb cruising, late summer breeze. He wanted to feel the romantic bullshit, maybe some fluttering heart action with whatever that impetus is that pushes people over the car’s cup holders for a kiss. He willed himself to do it enough times. But wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of nearly irresistible sensation inside? Like a revolution you can’t quell? Despite his gratitude for her support while his family fell apart, kissing Mai felt like working in Congress. When he made his move, all he felt was the beginning of a headache.

Points to Mai for her keen eyes and mercy. Of course she noticed he wasn’t into it. “I can feel you counting the seconds until you can stop,” she said. “Just own it, Zuko.” At first he tried to deny it, but Mai eventually dragged the truth out. (Her infamous knife collection added to her overall persuasiveness.) He remembers her grumbling through watery eyes, “Just don’t trail some other girl along, fuckwad. It sucks.” Then she slammed the car door and turned toward her McMansion. He was expecting to be full-on berated, perhaps even a stray blade flung his way, but she turned around and added with compassion and disappointment, “It’s not enough to ‘not hate’ someone, you know. You’re going to actually like someone someday. Maybe you already do. And part of me wants to, like, curse that relationship so you feel as shitty as I do right now. Fuck! Instead, I’m going to be nice—and don’t you dare make some smartass comment about that right now. (He wouldn’t have dared.) Just stop trying to pull this bullshit and, i don’t know, actually let yourself feel something.” And with a sigh, she walked up her driveway and out of Zuko’s life. 

They saw each other in school, but they didn’t talk. Zuko was honestly afraid of talking to her. Afraid of what anger might remain there. Afraid of all the knives she could get past the school’s metal detectors. And most afraid of what she implied about him as she toppled their relationship. So he avoided her to avoid a certain truth. It didn’t have to be true, Zuko decided. Generations go by without certain truths being revealed or understood by all of humanity. This could be one of them.

Instead Zuko went about his day: he teamed up with Sokka to dominate in gym, he asked Katara for help with the chemistry set, he read short stories for Lit class in study hall with Toph. And if Aang was there as he went about his day, well, he hardly noticed. (These are precisely the things about Aang’s presence that Zuko did not notice each day: his golden skin, his peeking tattoos, his threadbare sweaters, his torn jeans, his chucks, his sparkling eyes, his big ears, his swooping neck, his fucking imp smile, his raspy laughter, his insights into people’s problems, his affection for every fucking living thing, his little concealed eeyore moments, his flouncy walk, his spontaneous dancing, his jittery legs tapping away beneath his desk. In short: his everything.) Aang and all the unnoticeable things with which he bound into school each day were only another facet of Zuko’s day. Nothing worthy of obsession. Yeah, Zuko could definitely avoid certain truths this way, he assured himself.

Now with Aang backlit in the car by a full-on anime sunset, the truth was fucking with Zuko. “Try avoiding me now, bitch,” it seemed to be signaling with a morse code produced by the fireflies outside Aang’s window. Zuko gulped and turned his attention back to the road.

“So, where we’re headed, this place is where you grew up?” Zuko asked. Appa barked an affirmation.

“When we get there...I probably should’ve mentioned this before we left.” Aang grabbed Zuko’s arm apologetically, while Appa, always the empath, licked at his scarred ear. “You know your dad’s crew? It’s still the same since then. I just wanted to look for some things. A little Indiana Jones adventure.” Aang laughed for Zuko’s sake, but it only emphasized the emotions it concealed. “I didn’t think about how you might feel seeing it.” 

But Zuko put a reassuring hand on Aang’s leg. These kinds of platonic touches were just the friendly dynamic they had. Aang built gestures like this into all his relationships; Zuko had simply picked it up and reciprocated once he and Aang started hanging out more—which was after Zuko finally realized the shittiness that was his father’s reign of terror in the town. “I’m fine, Aang,” he started, “I should see it.” They both retreated into themselves. If either of them could float away from their isolating grief and see it sentimentally, they might appreciate how people find friendships that allow them to coexist in silence and melancholy. But, tbh, these were just deep and unpleasant feelings, and having a passenger in the car while they felt them mitigated exactly zero percent of the experience. They both let the feelings swirl for a sec. Aang put on a lo-fi playlist and they rode speechless the rest of the way as the light faded to the tempo of disintegrated beats.

* * *

In the twilight, the burnt ruins of Aang’s childhood were blacker than black. The black seemed to radiate its darkness onto the overgrowth taking over the lot. If the place weren’t so far out from the rest of town, it would attract ghost stories and investigations from neighborhood kids. Instead, it was just a singed fact left where the prairie swallowed the gravel road. Aang slapped his knees in the parked car before climbing out the door. He joked bleakly, “I guess you’ll need the grande tour.” Despite how often the older boy witnessed it (and despite how reasonable it seemed considering Aang’s life), Zuko found himself rattled and concerned when Aang’s bitterness surfaced. 

Zuko opened the door and called for Aang to wait up for him, leaving a sleepy Appa in the car. Aang slowed but kept toward the remains, so Zuko jogged through the tall grass and grabbed his shoulder. The gesture was met with hostility. Aang swiped it off and jerked away. As Zuko’s arm fell back towards his side in resignation, though, Aang gripped his wrist. He didn’t turn back towards his older friend, didn’t even speak. He only hung his head a little lower and squeezed more tightly. Zuko didn’t know what to do. While he longed for the right words, they all shattered somewhere in his heart. It hurt and he teared up silently behind his friend. He felt dirty for realizing what he realized at that moment, felt dirty to realize it while watching Aang suffer, while in the literal grip of Aang’s pain. 

Aang, for his part, was unaware of what realizations his clutch had awoken in his long-time crush. In that moment, Aang was simply caught up in guilt for swiping Zuko’s hand away, and then for criticizing Katara earlier in the day about her eastern religion paper after she asked for his help, and for how awful he felt about ending his relationship with Katara a year, and for how shitty of a friend he was to the few friends he had, and for never figuring out how to get along with the rest of the people at school, and for how he pretended it was all fine—that he had any idea how to move on from the shit that happened, that he had any idea how to help anyone, that he had any idea how to let anyone help him. He could feel the glow beginning to emanate in him. And if his nails dug deeper into Zuko, it was only the hold that a shipwreck survivor, safe on the shore, still puts on their life preserver. If Aang had explained anything about his state of mind then in the darkening yard, the charred tragedy in front of him would not have made the list. A relationship between the ruins and his tears didn’t even occur to him, let alone the fact that they were the origin for all his pain and anxieties. So, it was fortunate when Zuko, realizing exactly the root of his friend’s anguish, wordlessly shifted closer and slowly wrapped his arms around his friend. He asked nothing.

* * *

After a moment in the embrace, Aang pressed a laugh against his sobs, “Bet you didn’t know waterfalls were one of the booby traps here, huh, Shorty?” He let go of Zuko’s arm and wiped at his eyes. 

Zuko held on to Aang a little longer in confusion. “Aang, I’m taller than you.”

Aang unraveled from Zuko’s arms and started toward the house with the buoyancy of his step restoring. He thought about his slightly perverse appreciation for the touchiness he maintained in friendships. Specifically, his perverse appreciation that he got to be all intimate with Zuko without any of the typical dude-bro awkwardness. To his disappointment, after many conversations with Katara, Sokka, and Toph he’d concluded that the contact lacked anything particularly romantic when it came to Zuko. Still, Aang always felt giddy when Zuko offered up that affection. He let the warmth of the hug linger in his memory now as he hopped over a demolished wall. “Shorty’s in The Temple of Doom, Zuko!” Aang called back.

“Wait, is he the Chinese kid? Isn’t that character super racist?”

“Shorty’s not racist!” Aang snickered, “What did he do that was racist?”

Zuko followed Aang’s steps over and through the debris as they turned on their phone flashlights to explore. “I mean his DEPICTION was racist, wasn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, but I thought he was relatable? I liked him. ”

“Why? He was such a caricature.”

“Hey! I see something under here. Oh, oh, oh!” After jogging over toward Aang, Zuko helped him toss aside some bricks, revealing a blackened Buddha. Aang’s hands grabbed it gingerly. “I always liked that he was a good guy. No, actually he was like the best guy.”

“Guatama?” Zuko teased.

Aang chuckled while he rubbed away the soot from the little statue. “Also him.” Aang said, “The best guys, actually. Even if they weren’t one hundred percent perfect.” 

As his friend passed his thumb over the Buddha’s face, Zuko angled his body to see the recovered statue. “I know it’s getting late, but we can come back here and look around more another day.” They both studied the figure’s peaceful expression. “It’s the least I ought to be doing, Aang. After the shit my dad pulled—after the shit I did...I wish I could do more, honestly.”

“I can think of more things you can do for me,” Aang half-joked. He turned over his own shoulder to see if his fake flirtation had made Zuko smile.

But the smile didn’t matter once Aang looked because, even though the younger boy couldn’t see it, that boy’s mouth was full of desire. It had been since he’d wrapped himself around Aang’s sadness. He’d merely spent the last ten minutes soldiering through the longing, denying himself the sustenance he truly craved. Exactly the opposite of Mai’s suggestion. And exactly the way he’d spent most of his childhood. These were Aang’s ruins, though. He wanted to preserve them for his friend. The burning he finally acknowledged in his stomach felt like it would only further desecrate Aang’s old home. But here was Aang turning toward him, a hint of moon caught in his eye. And that gravitational pull brought his head toward Aang’s and pulled Zuko’s lips forward. I can’t believe it’s real, Zuko thought as it overcame him.

Anticipation can tinker with time as we sense it; it can stretch and bend it so that the actual strength required for each pulse of the heart can be fully experienced. But this was a fucking good kiss, and it had precisely the opposite effect. As Aang leaned up to complete Zuko’s transgression, all of time’s windows blew open at once for them, the cool evening breeze of lifetimes swirling around the pair, so that all the secretive pining that preceded the night, all the evening’s almost-happenings, and even premonitions of coupled futures were squeezed and blended between them along with the Buddha in Aang’s free hand. 

When they pulled back, Aang bit his own lip all coy, “Was that just to make up for what your dad did?”

“Definitely not. Just, uh, a feeling came over me. Or, yeah, I, I, I,” Zuko stumbled, “I really wanted to.”

Aang moved in closer but paused. He rested his hand on Zuko’s jaw and slid his thumb to tuck some of the shaggy black hair back behind his pink ear. Eyes closed and sighing, the older boy leaned into the open palm, pressing his scar, his own little ruin, into the softness. When Aang whispered, Zuko’s mouth could feel the breathy articulations of his friend’s words. “I think following what you wanted...especially when what you wanted was me...and it took you here…” They kissed again briefly unable to resist the tide of it. “I think that this is the last thing your dad would’ve imagined for the ashes.” They both looked down at the scorched earth. It had lost its unique darkness to the night. Instead, it had become subsumed by the pitch of nocturnal life.

They climbed back in the car, greeted by Appa trying to outdo their kisses with his own. Then Aang tucked the statue in the backseat and told his pup to protect it with his life. Of course, Appa dutifully gave no indication that he understood what his owner said. “I really do want to come back here, maybe once a week or something, and help you find some more things like that,” Zuko nodded to the back. “Maybe we can figure out something special for them, I don’t know. You probably have better ideas about it than me.” As Zuko put the car in reverse, Aang’s hand lay over his, exactly the kind of touch that they had always done as friends. It felt exactly the same as before, bringing them as much to life as it ever had.


End file.
